


3 Hail Marys

by lornemalvo



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Idk what happened here, M/M, im gonn try and make it cute tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:15:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornemalvo/pseuds/lornemalvo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: Frank Peterson being lured away from his priestly life by Lester</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Hail Marys

Frank had been a Catholic his entire life. With Catholic parents that dunked you in water as an infant and shipped you off to a religious school, only to visit during breaks, it was inevitable. He decided halfway through high school that he was going to be a priest, graduating and packing up his small amount of belongings in his parents basement and heading off to a convent. Spending 8 years there, he migrated around, finally stopping in Minnesota and becoming the head priest of a small church, with services every Sunday and Tuesday. He ran confession as well, sitting in the uncomfortable wooden box for 6 hours each Monday and listening to people's stories. It almost disgusted him. Almost.

Coincidentally, it was a Monday. Frank had woken up early to shower, drying his hair, finally a rich silver with grey highlights rather than his natural mahogany color, and slowly buttoning his black overdress afterwards. He kept his collars on a small shelf next to his shaving kit, still wet from this mornings use. The priest only had two collars, one an almost fluorescent white and the other a tad bit more dingy. Since he was only sitting in a box all day, no services or home visits, he decided against the 'dressy' one and gently situated the creamy colored one beneath his throat before departing for the day to listen to sob stories. 

In the beginning he had given the person on the other side of his confession box his full attention, not saying a word until the end and then giving a personal prescription on what to do. After years of the same stories, husbands cheating and children hitting their siblings, he gave up, instead staring a burning hole into the wall or planning his dinner for the night before giving them the standard procedure (a reminder of holy water and to say 3 Hail Marys with a rosary each night).

Frank had just set one foot outside of the booth when he was Lester for the first time. The man was small, dressed in a blue sweater with a horrid pattern, white collar of a dress shirt crumpled and peeking over the knit fabric. He had a bright orange coat, almost the size of him, thrown over his arm, making it impossible to see the color of his pants. The priest almost swore when Lester saw him, trying to sink back into his small room and become invisible, knowing that the other man was here for confession. By the looks of him he had a load to spill, and Frank was exhausted, not really wanting to hear it. His training took over and he cracked a small smile towards Lester before ushering him into the chair on the other side of his confession curtain before sitting back in his chair. Franks backside was aching from the wooden chair, and he shifted more than once before Lester started talking.

"I don't think... I'm not Catholic. Or religious even."

"That's alright." He had had more than Catholics in his booth, and he was used to the first confession. 

"Yeah. Yeah I know but.. I don't. I don't know anythin' anymore."

There was a beat of silence and Frank almost brushed the curtain back to see if Lester was still alive. 

"My wife. She left. Well, I guess she left. I don't know. I came home yesterday an'-an' she was gone. With everythin', save for my clothes 'n things. I don't know why I thought t' come to church but I did. And I'm here. I don't even have anything to confess. She should be the one confessin' to what an awful lady she was. Yellin' 'n screamin' 'n hittin'..."

Another beat. 

"I think I just wanted to talk."

Frank almost felt pity. Almost. He sighed and tugged his creamy priests collar off, setting it in his lap and brushing the confession curtain aside, pinning it back. 

"I'm Pastor Peterson. But, I suppose that we're just talking now, you can call me Frank. Don't ever call me that again." He cleared his throat and settled into his chair. "Now mister, we aren't friends. We might be someday, not now. But if I were you, I woulda kicked her out as soon as her toothbrush was in my bathroom."

This time Frank paused, folding his hands in his lap and sitting still for a moment before clearing his throat and standing with every intention to leave. The pastor stepped out from behind the curtain, smiled and nodded at Lester, and adjusted his collar.

"I don't usually give non-Catholics a 'prescription', but for you I'd say go out and have a stiff drink and a nice dinner. If not for you, but for me, since I am now..." A glance to his watch, "30 minutes late for my dinner." When he had finished his sentence Lester scrambled up, nodding frantically and pulling on his orange jacket (turns out his pants were grey knit), before shaking Franks hand and quickly exiting the church. 

If Frank caught himself staring at the mans backside while he left, well he didn't pay any mind, instead directing his thoughts towards dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> there might be more??? i don't know. ignore any spelling mistakes since i whipped this out on my ipad
> 
> misterwrench.tumblr.com


End file.
